Beneath the Ice
by Arkenshield
Summary: The first time Yuri fell beneath the ice, he was five. He was a swan with broken wings, left to waste away on the cold, hard ground by the one man he ever loved: the hunter who shot him down.


"Pirouette!"

Lilia Baranovskaya's stern voice echoed within the large dance studio. Snow was falling outside the windows, it was dark out and Yuri's limbs were numbed from the cold. He pirouetted.

"Poor. Again! Pirouette!"

Cold sweat clung to his blond hair, and Yuri's breaths came out as puffs of white mist; he wanted nothing more than to curl up by the fires at home.

"Pique turn, and again!"

Or maybe there was something he wanted better.

"Don't overturn, again."

The free glides along the rink, the burning desire for more, the yearning to fly across the frozen battleground again, spreading his wings under the watchful gaze of man with turquoise blue eyes.

"Pirouette! Pique turn and into Grand Allegro!"

Yuri heard the cracks of bones even before he felt it as he landed from the big jump. The world imploded before his eyes and Yuri fell backwards, surrendering to pain that overtook his vision.

He was a swan with broken wings, left to waste away on the cold, hard ground by the one man he ever loved: the hunter who shot him down.

The first time Yuri fell beneath the ice, he was five.

His grandfather had invited him to stay at his holiday home, a wooden cabin by lake Baikal. His parents were travelling, busy as always, not that Yuri minded, he was rather used to not seeing them. At some point in the past year dad had yelled at mum and called her a traitor, and from then on he never saw them in the same room again, when they were actually home, that was. He recalled the smell of cigarettes that clung to mum's coat when she walked into the house, utterly wasted. He remembered the smell of women's perfume on dad's shirt when he came back and how mum would cry when she thought he was not looking. Needless to say, Yuri was glad to not be home.

The first moment the boy laid eyes on the never ending expanse of shimmering ice that was the lake, something stirred within his heart, something that wanted to break free, and from that moment he knew he had fallen prey to the seduction of the ice. Grandpa held his hands and slowly led Yuri onto the frozen lake, and as he took that first step to let himself glide forward, in that moment, Yuri felt that the gaping hole that was bleeding tears in his heart filled.

Yet, the satisfaction was short lived, he craved for more and the desire was strong.

They skated on the lake for what seemed like hours, until his grandfather laughed his rich, hearty laugh, swept little Yuri into his arms and marched towards the cabin, promising to cook his favourite stew.

But that night, Yuri could not go to sleep.

His heart pounded, his hands were sweaty despite the cold, and the warm sheets were suffocating. He shook them off, reached for his coat and gloves and snuck out of the house.

The frozen lake looked even more alluring beneath the moonlight. Its dark surface was beckoning him, whispering for him to come closer and Yuri's heart raced with desire.

His first step on the ice drew a contented sigh from the boy, and Yuri could feel his heart soaring yet again as he glided farther and farther into the lake, past the point where his grandfather had taken him; he stretched out his arms and chased after the moonlight.

Oh the dark ice beneath his feet was beautiful, and in his boots Yuri spun and turned and jumped. He was free, at long last; the silent storm within his heart had calmed and he felt loved. Just as he took another step out onto an unclaimed territory, the gates of hell opened up beneath his feet and Yuri felt himself plunged into the deep, dark chasm beneath the ice.

Betrayal.

His heart screamed as he felt his lungs contracted; his limbs were completely frozen and unwilling to move. He had had one taste at liberation, and with the innocence of a child tore his heart opened for it, accepting the love with abandon, and what he received in return was nothing but another betrayal.

Fate was with him, however, as Yuri's grandfather had followed and saved him just in time. Yuri sat by the fires, shaken, waiting for the oncoming slap and curses that never came. His grandfather was not his parents, he looked at Yuri with his wise, old eyes, and told him he would take him somewhere special when they got back to Moscow.

To his promise he kept, as one week after the mortifying night at the lake, his grandfather took Yuri to an ice skating rink for the first time. This time he had his skates on, his gears in place, and as he stepped out onto the ice, Yuri's heart fluttered in a way it never had before.

The second time his heart fluttered that way again, was ten years later when he first met one Victor Nikiforov. He was training under the tutelage of the snarky old git Yakov Feltsman. Yuri was bored out of his mind as the old man lectured away at his techniques; he knew he was gifted and there was nothing Yakov could do about it. Yuri was barely listening when a deep throated laugh that sounded from above caught his attention.

A dangerously handsome stranger-not-stranger was looking down at him from the ledge above. A strand of Victor's silver hair fell in front of his sapphire blue eyes, and everything about him was startlingly alluring Yuri could only sit and stare. He was looking down at him with something in his eyes that Yuri could not read, but he swallowed and felt his tongue turn to lead. He could do nothing but watch in complete awe as Victor threw himself over the ledge and down to stand in front of him with the elegance of the Greek god, Eros. He sauntered towards Yuri, extended his hand and introduced himself.

Yes, said Yuri, as he was shaken out of his reverie. Yes, he said without thinking, when Victor offered to take him under his wings with a promise to make him fly higher than he could ever imagine. Yes, he said when Victor invited him to his home, so that they could get to know each other. Yes, when the corner of Victor's mouth curved into a sly grin, Yuri knew once again that he had fallen prey to a seduction he would never escape.

Victor became his world, his mentor, his addiction. He promised Yuri many things, he promised to create a programme just for him that would make the world fall to their knees, surrendering to his seduction. Eros, Victor called it, and kissed Yuri on the cheek. Victor took his hand and lead him into a world of pure fantasy, where the lights in the lounge dazzled beyond imagination, and Yuri downed glass after glass of glowing drinks and laughed like a maniac while Victor held him by the waist as the world spun like a carousel. In that half forgotten dream, he saw Victor smile, and leant down to whisper in his ear. The music was earth shattering, and in a daze, Yuri could not make out what he said, but he nodded anyway because this was Victor, and Victor always got his way. Yuri blinked repeatedly, but the fog that clouded his mind did not clear, and the beats were still banging on his eardrums. It was okay. Their drinks lay forgotten, he grabbed Victor by the hand and led him through a crowd of people onto the balcony. Yuri thrusted the taller, much older man, against the railing. Olive green eyes searched sapphire blue ones desperately, and found nothing but a trace of a mocking grin, the pitying smile he always saw in Victor's eyes when Yuri pushed to hard, craving for more, but no no avail. The screeching violin from within drew to a halt, and Yuri's fantasy was shattering into shards of a broken dream when Victor leant down and captured his lips, devouring and manipulating and defiling the boy's innocence, until all was gone and Yuri was lost but at long last he was alive.

He pulled away and dropped to his knees; shaky hands traced the outline of a bulge in Victor's trousers. Victor's hands were in his hair, urging him on, and Yuri knew it would be fine, that this was right, that this was what he wanted.

He loved Victor.

The lights in the city below were bright, and the music from the lounge behind him still swamped his senses. Hundreds of people were watching, and Yuri Plisetsky bent down to suck Victor's cock into his mouth like a God damn slut.

Victor convulsed, and let out a deep groan, his hands finding their way deeper into Yuri's hair as he pulled. It was almost painful, but it was okay. Yuri took his cock in deeper, and deeper, and drew out, and in, and out and in again until the champion skater's strong thighs were quivering and Victor was on the verge of release. He grabbed a fistful of Yuri's hair and yanked hard, smashing his face against his thighs and began to fuck into his mouth.

His breath caught in his throat, Yuri's eyes began to water and he gagged, but Victor would not relent. If anything he moved even faster, crashing Yuri's mouth onto his cock, and Yuri's vision blurred as he gasped for breath. He reached out to lick just below the tip of the older man's cock, and Victor came undone and he exploded into Yuri's mouth, howling an animalistic cry as bystanders watched and whistled.

Life with Victor was a perpetual ride on a roller-coaster that had spun out of control, it could take him high to the heavens one moment then come crashing down to the damnation of all. Yuri loved him.

The first time Yuri met that raven haired man, he saw a complete loser.

The Japanese skater sucked. He was a complete pushover, lacking in gifts, conviction, and relying solely on meagre talent and practice. He was no champion material, he was boring. How he had made it this far was a mystery to Yuri.

Then one morning he woke up in their bed and Victor was gone.

Victor was gone.

Yuri quickly put on his clothes, and sped out of the house. He spent the entire morning searching the city, places Victor frequented, places they had hung out, but all was lost. Victor's phone was turned off. Yuri groaned in frustration, hand fisting in his hair, and finally contacted Yakov.

"He's gone", Yakov said, looking him straight in the eye with what Yuri saw for the first time as genuine concern, "Don't go after him."

"Where is he?" Yuri barked, eyes glowing in anger, "WHERE IS HE!"

Yakov only sighed.

The second time Yuri saw the raven-haired man, he saw him for who he truly was. True, the Japanese skater was lacking in many faculties, but he made up for all of them by what Yuri had to begrudgingly call passion. It was frustrating.

It was frustrating to see Victor look at him with kind, soft eyes; it was a look of pure adoration and astonishment that Yuri had never had the fortune to receive. Victor was bored before, that he knew; he knew it when Victor bit down on his lips to draw blood, when he fucked into his mouth relentlessly, when he slammed into Yuri like with abandon, desperately searching for inspiration; the needed inspiration which he could not find in Yuri.

He found it now, Yuri could see it in his eyes. Victor's beautiful blue eyes traced the figure skating in the rink, and they sparkled with hope and passion, and his lips curved into a genuine smile. Victor never looked at him that way, and it hurt. It hurt so much.

But the fatal blow Victor delivered, was when he gave away Eros.

Yuri's breath caught in his throat, as a sharp dagger was ran through his heart and he forced his eyes not to water. He tried to look at Victor, he tried to ask why, but all he got in return was a fake smile and a pitying look from those stone cold eyes.

Eros was supposed to be his.

Victor was supposed to be his.

Eros was supposed to be what Victor created for him and him alone.

Still, Yuri wasn't going to go down without a fight. The stakes were high, and he if won this competition, he was taking Victor back with him, shatter this fleeting dream and Victor would love him again. All would be back to the way it should again.

He practiced hard, and harder, and after that he practiced more. Days and nights rolled into one, and when everybody else had gone to bed, Yuri would sneak out to practice at the rink again. The girl whose name he forgot gave him a copy of the keys; she seemed to understand, for some unknown reasons, she seemed to see his struggle, and Yuri was thankful. He practiced well into the nights until his feet were freezing, his hands shivering from the cold and his lungs ready to give out, and Yuri practiced more.

The day came and he performed flawlessly, knowing it was his one chance; and Yuri knew he did perfectly, he could have won any championship with the dance, he could have won anything.

But could he win over Victor?

Beneath the dim lights, the sensual tune of Eros came on and Yuri's eyes were drawn to the lone figure standing in the centre of the rink. All was silent until the first violin started playing, and the man dressed in all black transformed into Adonis who commanded the attention of the audience with his dance.

His movements were raw, unrefined, and truly Eros in its purest form. He slipped and fell, but he as he moved, the entire hall fell under his spell, his sensuality, his seduction.

And for the first time in his life, Yuri knew he had lost.

There stood Victor, dumbstruck, totally captivated by something Yuri himself could never achieve, for no matter how hard he practiced, no matter how much he strained himself, he was not Eros and Eros did not belong to him. He had lost.

Yuri dropped his gaze, turned his back on the arena, and never looked back.

Yuri fell beneath the ice, and this time he drowned.


End file.
